Markiplier Imagines

45 // I Hate You.

You hated who you were. You hated who you had to look at in the mirror every morning. You hated the scars on your wrist. You hated the deadness in your eyes. You hated the fake smiles. You hated other people. You hated everything.

The only person who could help you stay happy, even just for a moment, wasn't here. He was somewhere else – who knows where at this point. He's always traveling, be it for a wedding, for a sketch, for a stream, for some convention, he was always gone.

You were always alone. You were alone with your thoughts, with your emotions that you just couldn't grasp. You were always unstable; able to break at any moment without someone noticing until it was too late.

The thoughts in your head, they were horrid. Always, they would tell you that you were nothing, you were never going to be anything, and that was that. Maybe, just maybe, they were right. Maybe, you'll never be anything, maybe you were nothing. But, that wasn't what he thought.

He thought that you were important, that you had a place in this world just as much as he did. He thought that you were going to be something, it just hadn't happened yet. He said that you would be okay, but he didn't know about the scars.

The scars, always mocking you like a child. Showing that you convert to violence when you're left alone in an unsafe environment. Sometimes, he would question why you always wore your sleeves down and never wore any short-sleeved shirts without something long sleeved underneath.

You shook your head, deciding to get up at the sound of the front door opening and his voice ringing throughout the apartment. "Y/n! You here? The door was unlocked," his voice was getting closer and closer, showing he was walking toward your room. You pulled the blankets above your face and act like a lump in an effort as to not be seen by him.

Your bedroom door opened, and the sound of his footsteps along with his crash into the bed signaled that he knew you were hidden in your burrito. "C'mon, y/n, get up! It's like three!" You let out a groan, simply taking the sheets off of your face and staring at him with a face that resembled that of grumpy cat. He laughed – that sound, you didn't know what it was about it, but it just made you smile. It made you smile that kind of smile no one else would ever be able to see other than him.

Truth was, you loved him. You loved that he was the only one that could put a smile like that on your face. You loved that he was the only one that was able to make you happy to the point where you would actually giggle and laugh.

Truth was, you were his world. You were the only one that he cared about making laugh. You were the only one that could light up his world to the point of complete and total bliss. Yeah, sure, you weren't at the best point in your life, but that didn't mean that he was going to let you stay there.

So, as you went to lay back down, he tugged on your arm. Your mistake. It was almost in no time flat. He was staring at you, you at him, and his hand on your scars. He had no words, but his eyes started to well up, not to the point that he would actually start crying per say, more like tear up and get all puffy eyed. 

Your face stayed blank as you stared up at him, his eyes now focused on the scars and scratches. Maybe you could run, maybe you could pull your hand back. Maybe you could've worn a different shirt with long sleeves instead of a tank top to bed. You probably could've done a lot of things, but right now, you were practically paralyzed; Mark was the only one holding you here, the only thing keeping you out of your thoughts.

"When?" His word came out scratchy, his deep voice only making it worse. You looked down, deciding to get up out of bed and get as level as you could get with him. "I'm sorry, Mark," the tenderness of your voice was equal to his, and when you didn't answer his initial question, he looked up, a soft look in his eyes and repeated, "When?"

"About a year ago," no sound was heard until a ripping sob shattered the silence in the room. It wasn't from him, and it didn't sound like it was you. But, it was. It was you, you were crying. You were crying because you didn't tell him and he had to find out like this.

Within moments, your world went spinning. Mark pulled you into his chest, digging his head into the crook of your neck and whispering that he was sorry and that he would help you – fix this. You pulled away, causing him to look up from his spot. You placed your hand on his face, your thumb caressing his cheek in soft, even strokes. It was almost as if you were comforting him instead of him comforting you, but his presence did that. All he had to do was stand in front of you and you were a much better person.

He was staring at you, his eyes moving around the beauty of your face. He would never get enough of it - never. And the scars, they only added to your beauty, because he didn't care. They added something to you that wasn't there before, that tiny bit of imperfection that made him love you ever more than he already did. So, it seemed like it was long overdue when you both met in the middle and crashed your lips together, making these sparks emit from the sheer passion in it.

You couldn't have been happier, and neither could he. You were finally where you both wanted to be, and maybe, just maybe, your depression would go away. Having him, it was your cure, as you had told yourself many times, and would keep telling yourself for many years to come; you wouldn't hesitate, because, now, there wasn't anything to hesitate about.